


Why Charlie Brooker's 38-Point Plan to Survive the Zombie Apocalypse is Doomed To Fail

by Irmelin



Category: British Comedian RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 09:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irmelin/pseuds/Irmelin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The plan is falling apart like a house of cards, the points crumbling one by one. It's not because of Charlie himself, or the nature of zombies, or the world in general. No. In fact, it's all because of David Mitchell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Charlie Brooker's 38-Point Plan to Survive the Zombie Apocalypse is Doomed To Fail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fitofpique](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitofpique/gifts).



> Slight AU, in which Charlie Brooker and David Mitchell are both, in the wonderful words of my recipient, "single sadsacks looking for love". :)

Charlie Brooker has a 38-point plan to survive the zombie apocalypse. He first started it when he was eleven years old, and had just watched Dawn of the Dead for the very first time. He couldn't sleep, sitting wide awake in his bed all night, flinching at the tiniest sound. Carefully he tiptoed over to his desk, quickly grabbing pen and paper before dashing back to bed, pulling the cover up over his legs, and painstakingly writing HOW TO SURVIVE THE ZOMBIE APOKALYPSE on top of the empty sheet. 

It's been a work in progress ever since, items have been added, edited and discarded over the years. An entire section had to be rewritten in 2002 when 28 Days Later premiered and zombies suddenly had learned how to jog. Dead Set was mainly an excuse to research zombies without feeling guilty for not doing actual work. It's been transferred from that very first sheet of paper to an exercise book to a diary and then on to several different computers. It's a good plan, a sensible plan, and Charlie is quite proud of it. As anyone with a smidgen of foresight knows, it's not a question of _if_ the zombie apocalypse arrives, it's a question of _when_. But lately he's starting to doubt how well it'll actually work. The plan is falling apart like a house of cards, the points crumbling one by one. It's not because of Charlie himself, or the nature of zombies, or the world in general. No. In fact, it's all because of David Mitchell. 

> #3 – Don't form attachments. The moment you start having fond feelings for someone is the moment they get bitten and you have to chop their head off with a dull meat cleaver.

It doesn't quite start with The Big Fat Quiz of the Year. By that time Charlie already knows David, and likes him, and admires him a little bit more than he'd quite like to admit. They haven't worked together all that much, but when they do Charlie likes to think they've done rather well.

“We're putting you on a team with David Mitchell,” the producers of the Quiz say, “the two of you have really good chemistry”, and Charlie laughs nervously, feeling both a little bit panicky and really, really justified, because thank god, it's not all completely made up by his own brain.

It's fair to say that things escalates rather dramatically during the Quiz, though. Already from the beginning it's absolutely clear to Charlie which one of them is Ignorance and which one's Want. He doesn't even say much at first, he's content just to sit back and listen to David rant. When David starts to curse about not wanting to dance, so agitated his voice almost cracks, Charlie laughs so hard he can hardly breathe, and something just shifts inside him, and he knows he has it bad. He has to spend the next couple of hours sitting beside David, their arms touching, David whispering to him and it's both brilliant and horrifying at the same time. And if Jonathan Ross doesn't stop talking about having sex with David, Charlie will punch him in the face.

In the pub afterwards, Russell is holding court, Rob and Claudia are behaving a little bit too much like newlyweds and Charlie and David, both relieved to find someone like-minded, are still talking about the horrors of dancing. 

“If someone was holding a gun to my head,” Charlie says when asked. “I would dance then.”

David ponders this for a moment. “I think I would honestly rather die,” he says, shaking his head slightly. 

Charlie is impressed. He's never met anyone who loathed dancing more than him. 

“Okay,” he says, wanting to see just how committed David is. “If you had to choose between dancing and giving up all your money.”

David frowns. “All my money?”

“And your house, and clothes, and all possessions. Basically, it's dance or live naked on the streets.” The image of David naked on the street does not in any way appeal to Charlie, just to be clear. 

“Fine,” David concedes. “I'd rather dance than live naked on the streets.” He glares at Charlie. “But I'd do it very reluctantly.”

“Of course,” Charlie says. “Head held proudly, back straight, fists clenched.”

“Exactly,” David says in disgust and drinks deeply from his beer. 

“So, basically Riverdance, then?” Charlie says and watches in delight as David chokes on his drink. “I'm imagining your head on Michael Flatley's body now,” he says kindly once David stops coughing. 

“That's disgusting,” David says, his voice gravelly, and he coughs once more. “Stop it!”

“It's actually less terrifying than imagining Michael Flatley's own head on Michael Flatley's body,” Charlie says thoughtfully. 

David laughs loudly, and Charlie tries to picture himself chopping David's head off with a meat cleaver (with most people he has no problems doing this). All he can imagine is David's big brown eyes and himself dropping the cleaver on his foot and trying to run away, two toes lighter. He's in so much trouble. 

> #37 - Stay away from pubs. If there's even a smidgen of humanity left in a zombie, it will surely be the drive to find alcohol, greasy food and potential sexual partners with lowered inhibitions.

It becomes a regular thing, the trip to the pub every time they work together, which is suddenly all the time. Not that Charlie minds, far from it. It's a joy having someone to be angry about trivial things with, and who doesn't get offended when Charlie calls him a twat. 

Charlie does wonder at times, whether his constant trips to the pub with David is really his subconscious trying to get David drunk enough to see if he'll lunge himself at Charlie, which is apparently something David does occasionally. Charlie's subconscious viciously denies this and sulks about it for three days, and won't let Charlie sleep.

> #17 - Don't waste energy. You'll need all your strength killing the undead. Don't spend it on trivial things.

It's not that having a slight crush on David is the main problem, though. Charlie has spent most of his life being constantly in love. Unrequited, of course. He doesn't mind it, it's what fuels him. Unrequited love is a never ending source of anger, bitterness and resentment, all of which makes up a vital part of Charlie's career. It's when the love is requited that the troubles start. Suddenly there's conversations and relationships and expectations and dinners and parents and moving in and talking about futures and before he knows it he's pretending to be deaf just to get away from it all. 

So Charlie generally prefers not to do anything about his unrequited love affairs. But there's something about David, about how annoyingly clever and funny he is that makes Charlie want to impress him, like a desperate dog trying to please its owner. Because of this, Charlie spends most of his time flirting outrageously with David. This is obvious to no one but himself, since to most people offers of de-worming and shouting abuse on various panel shows wouldn't exactly be considered flirting, but it is the main way Charlie has of showing affection. The weird and wonderful thing about the situation though, is that David does actually seem not only to tolerate, but actually like Charlie in return. Well, at least like him well enough not to file a police report, which other people might have done.

> #14 - Don't draw attention to yourself. It will only make you a target.

Fine, it is entirely possible that Charlie wasn't exactly a shrinking violet hiding in a corner before David came into the picture. He may have done a decent job of drawing attention to himself what with the being rude about most things and spewing hate on the rest and making out with furry hand puppets on television. But at least he never appeared on live television. Charlie doesn't want to be on live television. Charlie doesn't like or trust live. Charlie would prefer it if his own life wasn't live! If it hadn't been for the fact that David was involved, Charlie would never have agreed to the Alternative Election Night broadcast. 

It turns out to be a complete and utter hell! Charlie spends most of the night trying to decide whether it would be more humiliating to throw up all over a guest or to piss himself. He glares at David who is reading prompters and following the news and interviewing actual people who matter and being all professional as if he were a proper journalist or something. Charlie is finding it frighteningly sexy, and he's just too worried about his own bodily fluids to properly appreciate it. If he was only safe in his own bedroom watching it on TV, he could enjoy it more. Oh, he would be enjoying it _thoroughly_. 

When he wakes up the next morning, well, afternoon, he genuinely can't remember the result of the election. He thinks about turning the TV on, but a little part of his brain shouts that if something has gone wrong with the election and there's anarchy in the streets, someone is probably blaming him for it. Instead he reaches for his phone and presses buttons without properly opening his eyes.

“Who won?” he croaks when David answers. 

David cackles, sounding way too awake. “Such a sad excuse for a TV presenter you are,” he says when he stops laughing. “I've never seen anyone that nervous.”

“You liked it, didn't you,” Charlie says accusingly. “David Mitchell, speaking live to the nation! I bet you got off on it. I bet you came home and watched it and masturbated to yourself being all competent and political, you fucking bastard.” He is definitely not projecting. He listens to David laugh for two entire minutes before hanging up in disgust. At least he never has to go through that harrowing experience again.

Turns out, they want him to go through that again. Turns out they want him to go through that hell every week. The producers leave the four of them alone to talk it over, and to Charlie's horror and amazement, the other three seem perfectly fine with it.

“No!” he says, staring at them in shock. “This is not what I do. I sit on a sofa, being rude about things! That's what I do. This is like, proper, adult television.”

“You make it sound like porn,” Lauren says, raising one eyebrow. 

“Look,” David says, in his reasonable voice, which Charlie recognises as the one he uses when he's trying to tell someone that all their opinions are wrong. “You were great on election night.”

“Fairly boring porn,” Jimmy mutters to Lauren, and Charlie glares at both of them. 

“I was barely conscious on election night!” 

“Yeah, now you just took the sexy right out of that one,” Lauren says with a disappointed sigh.

“Come on,” David says, and Charlie tries not to look at him. “It'll be fun.”

“I am not a suitable person to influence people about important political questions!”

“It's Channel 4!” Jimmy says. “We'll hardly be a major political force.”

Charlie narrows his eyes suspiciously at him. “You're just wishing for an opportunity to call Jeremy Hunt a cunt live on air, aren't you?”

Jimmy's face is a picture of innocence for all of three seconds before he breaks out in a smile. “Oh but it would be so easy to sell it as a mistake!”

“I hate you all,” Charlie announces, and ignores the way his spleen (not his heart, absolutely not his heart, Charlie's heart isn't suited for frivolities like that) sort of jumps a little bit in anticipation of working with David every week. Or possibly it's his liver, gearing up for the endless number of nights in the pub.

> #8 - Don't fight over territory. It's not worth it. The world is big, and there won't be that many people left in it.

Charlie notices, to his growing apprehension, that he's not the only one who is apparently a little bit smitten with David Mitchell. Feeling increasingly threatened after watching the latest episode of QI he makes a list of people he might one day have to fight for David's affection. He calls it a hit list at first, just for fun, but after some consideration he changes it. When MI5 goes through his computer, as they will inevitably do one day, it may be hard to explain the joke. He leaves women off the list, because frankly, they are in a completely different league to Charlie, and anyway, David seems to be doing a fine job of keeping them away himself.

\- Robert Webb. The whole double act thing is clearly a facade. Why else would they be doing all of their so called writing in David's bedroom? It's probably gone on for a long time, too. Charlie has watched enough costume dramas to know what goes on between young men at Cambridge.

\- Stephen Fry. Stephen Fry is obviously ridiculously infatuated with David. And Charlie is fairly certain that if Stephen wants David, he's allowed to have him. There is surely a droit de seigneur of the panel show world in existence. “I've missed your angry logic, David” is probably the perfect chat up line when it comes to David, and of course fucking Fry thought of it first.

\- Lee Mack. It seems like every episode of Would I Lie to You is full of innuendos from Lee (and if Charlie is watching every episode of anything David is in it's only because it's in his job description. Well, his job description doesn't actually mention David by name (god, he wish it did), but still. Television is what he does.) Charlie has also watched enough costume dramas to know that class differences (even if they're highly exaggerated in David and Lee's case) are an excellent fodder for passionate romance and filthy sex in coat rooms. 

\- Robbie the flatmate. The flatmate thing is fooling no one. Charlie doesn't buy David's argument that they're both too lazy to find something else. When two men in their thirties are living together there's something deeper going on. They're either having sex or there are bodies buried under the floorboards. Charlie is only slightly disgusted with himself for fervently hoping for bodies.

\- Dara O'Briain. Fine, Charlie might be stretching it in this case. It's mainly based on the fact that they have beer together and mock homoeopathy. A perfect way to spend an evening, Charlie would have to agree, but no one invited him. Beer drinking and discussion of homoeopathy is not a prevalent cause of frolicking in costume dramas, but that doesn't mean it doesn't happen. 

He's fairly certain he could take them all in a fight, though. Dara is a big man, but Charlie is not above fighting dirty. And none of them will stand a chance when the zombies take over.

> #23 - Seize the fucking day. There might no be that many of them.

To everyone's great surprise no major disasters occur during the entire series of 10 O'Clock Live. Jimmy doesn't call anyone a cunt, none of the guests walk off in a huff and most remarkably of all, Charlie doesn't start prophesying about the zombie apocalypse, or try to mount David like a rabid dog in front of the cameras. He is almost disappointed. The worst thing that happens is that some people don't like it all that much, and even then enough people like it to vaguely talk about doing it all over again next year. Charlie doesn't even receive any death threats, which is a novel but nice change. 

They go to the pub to celebrate, of course. (It's possible that someone somewhere should start worrying about the number of pub visits in Charlie's life, but it's not going to be Charlie.) Jimmy leaves early, because apparently he's the responsible one of the group, which makes Charlie and David seriously consider their own level of depravity. While Lauren is flirting with men too handsome for their own good, they get more and more drunk doing this. David also becomes more quiet as the night progresses, which makes Charlie slightly uncomfortable and he finds himself rambling on even more than usual to make up for it.

He turns away for a moment to wave goodbye at Lauren and when he turns back, David's face is definitely closer than it was before. Fuck. Is this is? Is this David lunging? Charlie is not prepared for this! If he'd known this was coming he wouldn't have been eating cheese and onion crisps for the last two hours. He panics, and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. 

“If I were to write a show about the prime minister fucking a pig, do you think people would start questioning my own sexual habits?” 

Right. In panic mode his brain evidently reverts to politicians and bestiality. That is excellent information to have. This is the most impressive act of self sabotage Charlie has ever witnessed. If he wasn't on the verge of actually crying, he might have been proud.

David draws back, for which Charlie doesn't blame him. He hesitates for a moment. 

“Why?” he says, sounding as if he's already regretting asking. 

“Why am I writing it, or why is he fucking the pig?” 

“Oh, both, definitely both, but mainly the second.” 

“To save the nation!” Charlie says, almost forgetting that David was maybe just about to kiss him, because he is actually really excited by this idea, and the fact that he cares more about the prime minister fucking a pig than kissing is just very, very, sad. “Or at least some minor royalty. He's not just doing it because he wants to.”

“Oh,” David says. He leans back in his seat, picks up his almost empty glass and stares into it. “That's good.”

“Not that I'd put it past Cameron,” Charlie says, and is relieved when David snorts. 

“You are so fucked up,” he says and shakes his head.

The night ends pretty quickly after that, unsurprisingly, and Charlie walks home alone, hating himself a little bit more than before. He doesn't dream about David. Because that would be _pathetic_.

> #32 - Don't tell anyone about The Plan. Other people's ignorance is a key part in surviving the zombie apocalypse.

The next time they meet is at a recording of Would I Lie To You? Things are surprisingly normal. Charlie's true romantic soul is revealed in the form of a bin, and he gets to call David a nasty little man on air, which is always enjoyable. 

“Pub?” David says afterward, more a statement than a question really , and Charlie breaks all conventions when he hesitates for a moment and then says no. David looks surprised or possibly even disappointed for a moment before his face turns politely blank. “Oh, right,” he says. 

“I have alcohol,” Charlie says, because David doesn't seem to be holding the whole pig fucking fiasco against him and Charlie is determined not to make the same mistake twice. “At home, I mean, if you wanted to come.”

“Yeah, sure,” David says, and it could just be the after-effects of the harsh studio lightning, but it almost looks like he's blushing. 

It's not unlike a night at the pub, only they're drinking vodka instead of beer, which is probably a hideously bad decision. Conversation turns to the zombie apocalypse. (This is probably Charlie's fault more than David's.) David keeps insisting on calling it _a_ zombie apocalypse, instead of _the_ zombie apocalypse, which Charlie feels doesn't bode well for David's level of preparedness.

“How do you expect to survive if you've not prepared at all?” Charlie asks, and if David notices that the expect comes out more as esshpect, he's too polite to mention it. 

“I don't,” David says, as if it was obvious. “I don't want to survive any kind of apocalypse.”

Charlie stares at him. “What?”

“I would be of no use to anyone,” David continues, and for someone who has drunk just as much as Charlie, he is way too articulate. “I have no skills apart from making jokes, and I doubt that would be appreciated in that particular environment.” 

“But the whole point of a zombie apocalypse is to survive it!” Charlie protests. Not surviving has never even been an option as far as he's concerned. 

David shrugs and leans over to pour more vodka into Charlie's glass. 

“You're just going to let the zombies win?” Charlie says, betrayed, and David looks at him sighs. 

“Charlie,” he says kindly and leans even closer. “Shut up about the fucking zombies.”

Charlie does shut up, and then David kisses him, and for the first time since he was eleven years old, zombies are the furthest thing from his mind. 

They're back with a vengeance the next morning though, when the daylight is too harsh, and Charlie's head is pounding, and every little noise is far too loud. David is moving round the room slowly, looking for his socks. He's looking anywhere but straight at Charlie. Charlie is watching David getting dressed without saying anything. He's not used to speaking in this situation. Usually this is where the other person says something, like give me a call, or this was probably a mistake, or I have to go, my husband will be wondering where I am. Charlie is the one only replying sure or yes, or oh, because he's absolutely rubbish at this. It's only when David disappears out the door, with an awkward sort of wave that Charlie realises that fuck, he might actually have found the one person in London who's worse at this than he is. 

Once Charlie has managed to find his pants it's too late to run after David. Instead he sits down at his computer, and opens up a new email to David. He stares at the empty box for a few minutes, before simply writing “At least give it a try. It wouldn't really be worth it without you.” Then he attaches his 38-point plan to survive the zombie apocalypse and hits send. It feels very inadequate. Charlie is a big fan of grand romantic gestures. Granted, his own are sometimes rather ill-judged (who knew drawing an anatomically correct heart with a knife through it for Valentine's Day would be considered threatening), but still, there's something very anticlimactic about declaring your undying love through email, even if it does come with a pdf attachment. 

He remains on the sofa, just staring at his computer screen, jumping every time he gets an email, but it's just an endless stream of offers of penis enlargement, which in his current situation are even more cruel and mocking than usual. He doesn't even notice the doorbell at first, so intently is he willing David to reply. 

When he finally hears it, he jumps up, runs to the door in a thoroughly undignified way, and throws it open. 

“I'm trying to determine,” David says, standing on Charlie's doorstep like all the Christmases in the history of the world come at once, “if a pdf file is more romantic than a bin or not.”

“It's my secret plan to survive the zombie apocalypse that I have been working on for more than thirty years!” Charlie says, and if he wasn't so relieved to see David he would take serious offence. “It's obviously more romantic!” 

“I don't know,” David says, and finally meets Charlie's eyes for the first time this day. “I saw that bin. It had gold initials on it.” He smiles. “And a red bow.” 

“You're a horrible little man,” Charlie says and drags David inside, closing the door firmly behind him and kissing him senseless. 

“Charlie,” David says, very much later, still leaning against the door. “You do know that there won't actually be a zombie apocalypse, right?” 

Charlie stops running his fingers through David's hair, and tugs on it lightly. “I know this situation might be unusual to both of us,” he says, “but shattering the other person's entire belief system is not a good start to a relationship.” 

David smiles at him, in a way that makes Charlie all weak at the knees, and he's wondering if biting is appropriate or if he should save that for later. “Fine,” he says. “I'll do my best to survive.”

Charlie needs to find ways to occupy his mouth or he will start to tell David he loves him, and it's just way too early for that, so he nibbles on David's ear, and to his joy feels David shudder. 

“I will be incredibly annoying and hate everything, though,” David manages to say, almost stuttering. 

“That's fine,” Charlie says, his voice muffled by David's skin. “That's how I live my life now.” 

David laughs, and kisses him again, for which Charlie is immensely grateful. 

There's a noise outside, on the other side of the door. Scratching maybe, or scraping. It might be the zombies. Charlie doesn't notice. His 38-point plan to survive the zombie apocalypse might have fallen to pieces, but he doesn't care. He has a feeling he'll be just fine.


End file.
